For my entire adult life I have smoked. So over this past week since I stopped, I’ve been breaking habits as ingrained as putting on a pair of pants before stepping into my trousers or putting my shoes on before going out. It really feels like something is missing and yet I don’t feel empty – a bit like losing a much loved pet in a way. But there are certain fags at critical points that I really do miss because I really enjoyed them.
I missed the fag I always have after the nightmare shopping trip to the supermarket. (I HATE shopping). I’ve been missing the juicy cig I used to have with a cuppa when I get in from work. I’ve been missing using cigarettes as pause points when I paint; after I’ve laid down a wash and while I’m waiting for it to dry, I’d light up while I thought about the bit of painting I’d tackle next. Yep, I’ve really really missed those fags.
People told me that within days of quitting my sense of smell and taste would improve and that I’d feel fitter and healthier. Not true. But I have already noticed I have more money. I’m already thinking about all the lovely places I’ll be able to visit and things I’ll be able to do as a result of saving all my fag money. Though I got a bloody parking fine on Wednesday so my initial week’s savings have gone to Oxfordshire County Council. Gah! Over-zealous traffic wardens be damned! Anyway…
It hasn’t been particularly difficult to give up, nor has it been particularly easy, though it’s been easier than I expected. Do I want a fag now? Yes. Am I going to have one? No. Though I might treat myself to a big fat havana on the shortest day…